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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365567">The Ones Left Behind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyrne/pseuds/Zephyrne'>Zephyrne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Transformers, Transformers - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Science Experiments, Transformer Sparklings, Unethical Experimentation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:41:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyrne/pseuds/Zephyrne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The choices we make have far reaching and devastating consequences, not all of which affect us directly. Sometimes others are the ones who are affected the most. What do you do when your decisions affect not only yourself, but two innocents as well?</p>
<p>Smokescreen wishes he knew.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bluestreak &amp; Prowl &amp; Smokescreen, Chromia/Ironhide, Elita One/Optimus Prime, Hound/Mirage (Transformers), Jazz &amp; Prowl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Don’t look back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t quite sure how long it’d been since the sounds stopped: those odd, thundering crashes that had made Other flinch and cry. They had stopped a while ago; surely it was safe now?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hated it; this </span>
  <em>
    <span>not knowing </span>
  </em>
  <span>was not something he had ever experienced, Creator had made sure of it, and he really did not like how utterly useless he was because of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Surely it was safe now. It had to be. They couldn’t stay here anymore. There was no more Energon in the containment unit since he’d used it all keeping himself and Other fueled. It had run out a while ago and his tank was starting to ache from the lack of fuel. Other wasn’t doing much better, even if he had consumed most of the Energon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yet, he hesitated. Creator had told him not to leave this place. That he belonged here until Creator deemed otherwise. He didn’t know what, if anything, was out there. Other was a liability since he could not fight. He himself wasn’t physically strong; if he had to fight, how badly would it go?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The odds certainly weren’t in his favor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, he knew how to unlock the door. Creator had though he’d been smart by blocking his view of the keypad, never even noticing that the numbers on the keys had significantly worn away. Coupled by the fact that he could still see in what sequence they had to be pressed…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, the door wasn’t what kept him here. </span>
  <strike>
    <span>Their blank, judging stares were more than enough. </span>
  </strike>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He may not be able to come back. </span>
  <strike>
    <span>The thick, heavy stench of innermost Energon would make sure of it, better than any repellent ever could.</span>
  </strike>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be cruel to make Other go instead. Other was so small, so defenseless; he couldn’t even fuel himself, let alone leave the deceptive safety of their hideaway. He’d have to go too. </span>
  <strike>
    <span>Unless he wanted this to been their graves</span>
    <span>. </span>
  </strike>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time in as long as he could remember, he would finally be rid of this place.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Forgotten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sidestep didn’t consider himself to be a particularly superstitious mech. All the “scary” sparkling tales of sparkeaters, frame snatchers and other things that went bump in the dark cycle were simply that: stories. They weren’t real. Pit, he saw scarier things while fighting in this Primus-forsaken war.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was really hard to remember that while walking through the smoldering wreck of what used to be Praxus. The once great city was no more, the Decepticons making sure that every single inhabitant had offlined either from the initial bombing or from the wave of soldiers that shot the remaining survivors.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His processor was working overtime, making ever creak and groan from the decrepit buildings be the work of vengeful Praxian ghosts. Every bit of movement seen out of the corner of his optics was caused by the shambling, empty frame of a deactivated mecha. The tense atmosphere created by the angry, judging spirits of the once inhabitants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primus, he was going to have horrible memory purges after this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His partner wasn’t really helping him calm down either. Quickdraw, while a great mech to have around while in a shootout, was not exactly what you’d call positive or calm</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Quickdraw’s rather nervous demeanor meant he imagined the same things he was, only amplified to what felt like a thousandfold. They certainly made quite a pair, seeing Pit monsters at every turn. He’d lost track of how many times Quickdraw had pulled his blaster on what turned out to be a startled glitch mouse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, they were almost done searching this quadrant. Thank Primus. After this, he was gonna get </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> overcharged. Maybe he’d bring out a cube of that really potent high grade he’d been saving. Helm ache aside, that stuff was strong enough to blitz even a shuttle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sidestep was so absorbed in his musings he didn’t notice when his partner stopped. He also didn’t register the staticky choke that escaped Quickdraw’s vocalizer. He definitely noticed when Quickdraw fainted, the sound of his partner’s frame falling to the ground snapping him back to reality.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the Primes, what now? What could have possibly- oh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, dear Primus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was another mecha.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was another mecha standing over his poor partner’s unconscious frame, their frame the same lifeless grey as every other deactivated mecha they had passed. A frame that was distinctly Praxian in design, small enough that its owner couldn’t have been older than a second or third stage youngling before they had...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, those sparkling tales seemed all too real. Sidestep didn’t know if a spark could gutter from pure terror, however his own certainly seemed to be doing its best to do so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dull optics turned towards him, their dim light rooting him to the spot. Sidestep dimly realized he’d withdrawn and activated his emergency beacon, the small movement enough to draw attention to himself. Sweet Primus, he was going to die, either from his spark’s erratic flaring or from whatever that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> was going to do to him. The last thing he remembered was thinking that at least the other Autobots would know where to find their deactivated frames.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ironhide had prepared himself for the worst. Everyone in the makeshift command hub had. After all, this whole debacle was nothing more than a pitiful attempt to help mecha that were no longer among the functioning. The most they could do was prove last rites and a decent burial.</p>
<p>No one had had the spark to tell Optimus that Praxus was doomed when the initial reports had come in. They’d been too far away, help could not be rallied quickly enough. By the time they’d arrived, three orns after the bombing, the city and its inhabitants were long since deactivated.</p>
<p>Still, that hadn’t deterred the Prime. Which is why Ironhide was stuck in this fragging tent on the outskirts of Praxus, coordinating an ultimately fruitless search of the city with the Autobots’ SIC. Report after report had been forwarded to Steelstrike, all with the same result: no survivors. It should have been impossible, and yet, in a city that once housed thousands of cybertronians, not a single one was found. There was nothing left. Only empty frames and rubble remained. Even the Decepticons had already retreated back to their base.</p>
<p>Which is why the incoming emergency beacon caused quite a bit of shock. Steelstrike was the first to spring into action, commands spilling from his vocalizar before the others had a chance to react. “The signal is originating from the residential district, approximately 5.6 miles from our current location. No incoming transmissions received; mechs potentially incapacitated or offline. Boomburst, notify all units in that sector to be on guard for any potential enemy attack. Blaster, have the nearest team investigate further and provide assistance.”</p>
<p>“On it / Yes sir”, came the immediate replies, both mechs working quickly to fulfill the requests. Silence settled in the aftermath as Steelstrike and Ironhide waited. They’d be damned if they lost any mechs to this Primus-forsaken mission, no matter what. There had been enough loss in this place to last a lifetime.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jazz had seen and done many things during the course of the war. Things that were strange, horrible or both. It was to be expected; wars aren't won by being nice and politely asking the enemy to give up. Still, this one took the proverbial Energon goodie. Out of all the things he’d expected to see when arriving near the provided coordinates, a small dirty youngling rifling through the contents of two unconscious mechs’ subspaces was not one of them. Definitely not a Decepticon.</p>
<p>At first glance, the kid shared the same dull grey plating as the deactivated mecha he’d seen throughout the city. However, upon closer inspection, the shoddy plating had a slight sheen to it, so slight as to be almost undetectable, matching the colors of a standard medical basecoat. So…now the question was why a recently repaired youngling was running around the smoldering remains of a destroyed city.</p>
<p>Oh well, he’d worry about that later. As it was, it looked like the kid was almost done searching for...whatever he was searching for. From his vantage point behind the remains of a low garden wall, he could see that an orn's worth of rations and a small Energon dagger had been the only items specifically set aside. Mirage might have been able to get a better look, had the kid not been a Praxian; due to the sensors in their doorwings, there was a small possibility that they could sense the low hum generated by Mirage’s systems.</p>
<p>Had the kid attacked the scouts due to hunger? It was a possibility, especially since it looked like fuel was the main thing that he’d taken. Although why he hadn’t simply asked for assistance…could he have thought they were ‘cons? Come to think of it, how would a youngling have even incapacitated two adult mechs?</p>
<p>While Jazz pondered the logistics of that, his quarry gathered his newfound spoils and set off at a brisk walk down one of the roads. He watched him go, taking the time to send Command the all clear, along with a request to come recover his fellow Autobots. Jazz waited a klik longer before following, trusting that Mirage was doing the same. </p>
<p>Their walk took them towards what might have once been part of one of the lower income neighborhoods. The devastation had caused the houses and surrounding structures to crumble, although a few stubbornly remained upright. The road was broken up and covered with so much rubble that it was difficult to navigate easily. Here Jazz found it harder to keep out of sight since there was much less cover available and a misplaced pedestep would occasionally cause various pieces of debris to crunch or clatter. He’d had a few close shaves since the sound caused the kid to glanced over his shoulder a few times, though thankfully he hadn’t been seen. Fortunately, Mirage’s electro-disruptor made him invisible so only one of them needed to hide. Hopefully the kid would attribe the noise to one of the small mechanimals that had started to claim the city.</p>
<p>Their little youngling wandered over to one of the more intact homes and placed his burden on the ground. Glancing furtively around, he forced the damaged front door wider before taking the rations inside. The door noisily slid back to its previously half opened position a few sparkbeats afterwards. Jazz heard Miraje moving towards the building in question. Moments later, his HUD registered an incoming message.</p>
<p>::Mirage to Jazz, come in Jazz.::</p>
<p>::I’m here, ‘Raj. What’s up?::</p>
<p>::It looks like he’s wandered in farther than just the front room. I can't see where he went or what he’s doing.::</p>
<p><em> Frag. </em> ::I’ll go in, ‘Raj. Stay out here in case the kid tries to sneak back out or something.::</p>
<p>::Affirmative. Mirage out.:: With that the line went dead with an audible <em> click </em>. Now, to get that youngling out before he managed to hurt himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Somehow, Jazz was able to slowly move the door enough so he could squeeze his way inside without causing too much of a racket. On his way in, he decided to use some of the large pieces of rubble to keep the door open; no sense in having his only safe exit blocked in case something happened. Once inside, it took a few less than a klik for his visual settings to adjust to the dim lighting. The interior of the building was just as bad as the outside, with various items strewn about haphazardly and a thick layer of dust coating everything. He was standing in the living room, with a door on the far side of the room and another to his left. Seeing as how most of the far side of the room had caved in, Jazz decided the kid wouldnt have been dumb enough to go that way.</p>
<p><em> Granted, he was dumb enough to come in here in the first place. Who knows, maybe he's hiding back there. </em>Left room first, potential death trap later. Literal death trap, judging by the still forms he could make out in the darkness.</p>
<p>Moving as silently as possible, he approached the doorway and pushed the door open. Only to be greeted by ice-blue optics and stiffly held doorwings. Bingo.</p>
<p>His mysterious youngling was sitting on a huge berth piled high with blankets and pillows, the recently acquired Energon dagger clutched tightly in his fist. The faintly glowing remains of the stolen rations lying near the youngling’s pedes provided the only light in the otherwise dark room. Jazz took a few steps further into the room, making sure to look as non threatening as possible.</p>
<p>“Hey there, lil buddy. What’s your name?”</p>
<p>No response. Which wasn’t completely unexpected, since most youngling probably wouldn’t go talking to any strange mechs that wandered into their little hideaway. Still, they needed to get out of there and it would be easier if he could get the kid to relax a little.</p>
<p>Jazz neared the berth until the youngling was within reach and knelt down so that they would be near optic level. Other than a slight twitching of doorwings, the youngling showed no signs of distress in either frame or field. That was good, right?</p>
<p>“I’m Jazz. My partner and I are part of the Autobot rescue team. We were looking for survivors in the area when we got notified that there was someone running around in this cuadrante . Guess we found you, huh?”</p>
<p>The kid relaxed his doorwings slightly, but said nothing.</p>
<p>“‘Kay, I know you probably feel real safe here, bud, but this place is really unstable. Like, two-nanokilks-away-from-falling unstable. And it wouldn’t be right to leave you here all alone now that I found you. I just wanna help you, little guy, so what do you say? Wanna put the dagger down and come with me?”</p>
<p>This time, Jazz waited an entire kilk before deciding that he wasn’t going to get an answer. Frag. Now what? While he could just pick up the kid, Energon dagger or no, it would be a hassle to get the kid out the door if he struggled. Even with Mirage helping him.</p>
<p>
  <em> Click, click, tweet. </em>
</p>
<p>That...hadn’t been the kid. Jazz carefully reset his visor.</p>
<p>A previously ignored lump on the berth (which he’d thought was due to the multitude of covers) moved to free itself from its soft prison. Jazz was speechless as he found himself staring at a grey-and-red sparkling. Said sparkling cocked his head, as if Jazz was a particularly confusing new toy.</p>
<p>
  <em> Tweet, click, chitter. </em>
</p>
<p>Slowly, ever so slowly to avoid startling the dagger wielding youngling (he was going to start calling him Stabby just to have something to call him), Jazz rose from his kneeling position and gently picked up the bitlet, who proceeded to curl up over Jazz’s spark. He was so <em> small </em>, and felt so fragile in his arms. Too small to be in some tumbledown house in a destroyed city with dead mecha in the next room. How had either of them survived?</p>
<p>No time to think about that. First, get out before the place falls down around their audials. He could worry about the rest later, after both kids had been checked out by a medic. The sparkling seemed happy enough snuggling into him, clinging like a particularly adorable voltbat. Now, how to get the Stabby to follow him out?</p>
<p>Jazz took a few hesitant steps towards the door, half expecting the kid to come at him with his dagger held high. Fortunately, it seemed Stabby was willing to cooperate in this. Dagger still in hand, he meekly followed as Jazz carried the younger child out of the room. The only problem came when the sparkling let out a whine at being exposed to bright light coming in from the open door. Stabby froze, and for a nanoklik Jazz could feel a flash of murderous rage race through the kid’s field. A few sparkbeats later, Stabby’s field settled back to the same calm state as before. What in the Pit?</p>
<p>Jazz gently nudged Stabby out the front door before following, not trusting the kid to not literally stab in the back. Outside, Mirage (having turned off his electro-disrupto) stood on the front walk waiting for them. After a quick once over to make sure neither sparkling nor youngling was terribly injured, their little quartet took off in the direction of the Autobots base camp.</p>
<p>“You should know that Steelstrike is rather upset that we left those two scouts behind. Unfortunately, it appears that the road conditions make it hard to get a transport to this sector. However, I was able to request that they get one of the medics ready to provide a medical exam.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, ‘Raj,” Jazz said gratefully, “I owe you one.”</p>
<p>A dainty snort escaped the spy. “Of course you do. Now, are you going to introduce me to your new friends?”</p>
<p>“Right. Mirage, meet Sparkling,” Jazz gestured to the bitlet in his arms before pointing to the youngling, “and Stabby. Sparkling and Stabby, meet Mirage. He helped me find you two.”</p>
<p>“Sparkling… and Stabby.” </p>
<p>“Yup.”</p>
<p>“Sparkling. And Stabby.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh.”</p>
<p>“Jazz,” Mirage said in a pained tone, “those are horrible names. Consider your naming privileges revoked, effective immediately.”</p>
<p>“Hey! What makes you think that those aren’t their real names?”</p>
<p>“Because you are literally the only person on Cybertron that would consider those acceptable names for children.” </p>
<p>“...Fair point. Still, we have to call ‘em something and Stabby ain’t exactly correcting me here.” At that, both bots turned to the child walking between them. Stabby met each of their optics in turn without a word.</p>
<p>Mirage reset his optics. “How odd. Perhaps his vocalizer was damaged? It could be that the damage isn't visible without a scan.”</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Jazz shrugged. “Guess the medic will just have to check him out to be sure we didn’t miss something.” Even if the kids looked totally unharmed. Other than a few dents on Stabby, neither he nor Mirage had found anything that a bit of polish couldn’t fix. A miracle really, considering the state of their fellow Praxians.</p>
<p>They slowly trudged towards their destination. At one point, seeing Stabby start to lag behind, Mirage had simply scooped him up and proceeded to carry him. From the way youngling had stiffened at the initial contact, Jazz was sure that his friend was about to get a faceful of Energon dagger. Fortunately, nothing happened and the kid settled in the spy’s arms.</p>
<p>After almost two full joors of walking, the Autobots camp finally came into view. Due to long-standing habit, they skirted along the edge towards the medical tents to avoid passing though the more heavily transmitted paths. Sparkling had long since fallen asleep and Stabby wasn’t doing much better, sleepily watching the few Autobots they came across. Said Autobots stared back, wide-opticed at the sight of two surviving Praxians. By the time they reached their destination, a small group was trailing behind them and Jazz was trying to think of a way to politely tell them to go away.</p>
<p>“Unless any of you have been injured,” Steelstrike said as he and a medic emerged from one of the nearby tents,“I highly suggest you get back to your assigned duties. The medics will not appreciate having their medbays occupied by healthy mechs. They may, however, be perfectly willing to assist you in correcting that state.”</p>
<p>Say what you will about their SIC, the mech could clear a crowd. After a few nanokliks, their tagalongs had scattered. Jazz would have been happy, had Steelstrike not then turned his focus on him, <em> anger-annoyance </em>clear in the Iaconian mech’s field. “Agent Jazz, Agent Mirage, please follow me. Medic Crash Course will tend to the two survivors.”</p>
<p><em> Slag </em>.</p>
<p>Without much of a choice, Jazz handed Sparkling over to Crash Course as Mirage set a sleepy Stabby on his pedes. The youngling tried to follow them, only to be stopped by the medic and ushered into the temporary medbay. For a moment, Jazz wished he could go after them; anything would be better than the verbal reaming he was about to go through.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is probably the longest thing I’ve written so far. Please feel free to leave any comments, suggestions, etc.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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